


Eden

by mevernind (Razapaz)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:44:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razapaz/pseuds/mevernind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst war and strife, love can strike hard and fast - even to those who do not seek it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eden

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this in a bit of a hurry, so there may be some mistakes. I hope you enjoy anyway!

October 1978

* * *

_Wise men say only fools rush in,_

_But I can't help falling in love with you._

* * *

Lily _supposed_ she was happy.

It was the uncertainty of it that made her distant, at times, with James. She understood why her moods frustrated him, especially considering how much he'd fought to gain her attention and approval. She didn't ask it of him, not really, but it seemed Potters were _persistent_ ; it was one of the many traits that she admired about him. He'd matured from an arrogant schoolboy into an arrogant gentleman - he was a better person, easier to love - but something didn't seem quite right about it, either. Yes, she adored how kind and passionate he was, how mischievous he could be, despite her reprimands, and his relative ease in making friends in the strangest of places. And yet, Lily couldn't say for certain that she loved him with all her heart.

She felt horrid after that realization, cuddled against her fiancée for warmth in the middle of the night, a paltry month after their graduation. Even more so when James awoke, gave her a groggy, love-sick smile and whispered, "Go back to sleep, Lils."

Lily simply closed her eyes and wondered whether this was happiness.

Well, her relationship certainly was comfortable, if anything else. She felt safe and content in the knowledge that James truly cared for her, that his boyish affections were neither overbearing nor left her wanting, and she supposed that she ought to be satisfied with that much. But she _wasn't_. There lacked a passion within her, a drive for intimacy, that left her feeling detached during their lovemaking. While she followed through the motions and played a pleasured woman, for his sake, Lily couldn't say that she found it fulfilling. In the aftermath, where she laid awake and wished to be anywhere else, Lily knew that she wasn't being fair to herself _or_ James.

It was then that she'd asked to postpone their planned summer wedding, determined to figure out her feelings before making what felt like an awful mistake - she hadn't told any of that to James, of course, begging off his wounded inquiries under the pretense of sorting out some personal issues. She knew James assumed it had been about her sister. She didn't correct him.

Not long after that, they were asked to join the Order.

Desperate times called for younger candidates, much to the older members' silent woe. Though Lily naively thought herself a grown woman, ready to face anything the world threw at her, she wasn't prepared for the missions they were assigned. She'd never known magic to be abused in as dark a manner as she'd witnessed - to be wielded by dark wizards who delighted in causing pain simply for the sake of it. Corpses upon corpses of Muggles followed in their wake. Wizards and witches she'd known since First Year were struck down before her eyes. Nightmares became more common. Happiness became a memory.

It was in those first months that she came to value James' company more as a reminder of better times - as a retreat from the pain and fear that gripped her spirit every time her dearest friends left for a mission, with no guarantee that all would return safely or whole or _at all_. It was then that she clutched onto James' hand tightly, futile in her attempt to ground herself with something familiar. It was then that she turned to him with grief in her heart, seeking even a moment's respite. Those nights were fueled by desperation, reaffirming that she was not alone in her suffering, and, dreadfully, made her feel all the more guilty to hear his quiet gasps of devotion and love.

Lily couldn't quite describe the troubles she felt, the doubt that steadily grew in her heart, and she certainly didn't feel right discussing it with anyone. It felt like such a petty thing, in the face of all the devastation and loss that constantly seemed to surround them. Alice would surely listen without judgement but it was her own burden to bear, without complaint.

It remained so until one particular night, when she left the safety of their home after a spat with James. They were having more and more tiffs, about everything it seemed - his socks left lying about, her shortening temper, his very late nights with the Marauders, her 'constant' nagging, his tendency to put himself in unnecessary danger during missions, her growing unwillingness to have sex, their postponed wedding - many things were said. Things she hadn't even _meant_!

She truly did care for James, loved him in _some_ manner, but she could only endure so much.

Wrapping her scarf more firmly about her neck to ward off the oncoming winter chill, Lily aimlessly strolled down a street in Muggle London. She didn't feel much like lingering in the wizarding community tonight - it only brought painful reminders of things she'd rather forget, only for a little while, she just wanted to _forget_ \- but she didn't want to be alone, either. Feeling melancholy enough to seriously think about dropping by her parents' house, perhaps even spending the night there, Lily was distracted enough that she was nearly smacked in the face by an abruptly opened door.

Brought up short, the witch gasped at the near-hit, heart pounding and face flushing in embarrassment.

The rowdy group of women paid no heed to the witch they'd nearly brained, crowing and hooting drunkenly as they stumbled out onto the street, intent on making their exuberance known to the world.

Barely resisting the urge to throw a stinging hex or two at the retreating group, Lily's eye was drawn back to the door of what was, very obviously, a local pub. The sign, though weathered, clearly read: _Ram's Horn Tavern_.

Contemplatively chewing on her lip, Lily reasoned that having a pint and making idle chatter might help take her mind off matters. It was certainly better than burdening her parents with troubles they needn't know about, not when she could easily soothe her woes with some normal, mindless conversation. Yes, that was what she needed - something mundane and completely unrelated to the wizarding world.

She entered.

* * *

It quickly became a place of refuge for Lily - a place she could retreat to whenever the bleakness of the war threatened to consume her whole. While James had his Marauders to frolic about with, she had her secret pub full of strangers.

Nevermind that the place faintly smelled of urine and sweat, had yellowing and peeling wallpaper, or had barely seen better days than the Leaky Cauldron - it was rather cozy once one got used to those less-than-savory qualities. It gave the pub _character_ and drew quite the diverse crowd of patrons. She'd met many interesting people, patiently listening to their personal tragedies and comforting those who genuinely sought a sympathetic ear.

There was the occasional patron who would try to seduce Lily away from her fiancée, despite her polite rejections, and those unfortunate souls felt the wrath of a cross witch. Discreetly, of course.

They quickly learned to steer clear of approaching her with illicit intentions, much to the amusement of the bartender.

"It's hysterical, the way they all but flee at the sight of you," the older man grinned, teasing, as he wiped a glass. "Frightened by a slip of a girl."

"Woman," Lily corrected smartly, straightening in her seat.

"My apologies."

Exasperated, the young witch rolled her eyes.

On the nights she couldn't find decent company to chatter with, not including Gregory 'don't-call-me-Greg' the bartender, Lily simply sat and allowed herself to be swallowed up in the conversation that surrounded her. She listened to other patrons as they wallowed or celebrated, content to be reminded that life continued on despite the war that brewed beneath the Muggles' knowledge.

It was on one such night that she first saw him.

He was sat at the other end of the bar, somewhat shadowed beneath a grey newsboy cap and hunched over his drink with a curtain of dark, tangled hair to hide behind. Every now and then the man would cast furtive glances past his shoulder, as if looking for someone, and Lily could more clearly see his strong, stubbled jawline and haunted gaze in those moments. More than anything, the poor man seemed lonely.

That wasn't the whole of it, either - it seemed that people made a point to steer clear of him, though she couldn't understand why. There just seemed to be a general consensus to keep away from him.

She gestured for the bartender, and pointed towards the odd man. "Gregory, do you know who that is?"

The older man glanced over, his expression twisting as if he'd sniffed something rotten. "Been coming by since last month."

When he wasn't forthcoming with any more information, Lily arched a brow. "And?"

"And he ain't nothing but trouble, girly. Don't bother with him."

Making a face, the witch stuck her tongue out.

The bartender sighed, retreating and tossing over his shoulder, "And you ask me to call you _woman_."

"You never do, besides," she muttered petulantly, brooding over her drink.

Her mood faded quickly, however, when she caught the stranger eyeing her. They stared for a few moments, a shared curiosity bubbling between them, but then the man's attention was drawn away by new patrons entering the tavern. She could visibly note the tension that strained his rather impressive frame as his gaze flitted back and forth between people, analyzing them with narrowed eyes. She wondered why he seemed to be so distrustful of people or why he'd place himself in a situation that would surely make him uncomfortable - unless, of course, he didn't have a choice.

Pursing her lips, she regarded the gloomy Muggle with renewed sympathy and a touch of intrigue.

Despite the warning from Gregory, she knew her magic would be enough to give her an advantage, even if this Muggle did turn out to be more threatening that she expected. And she had her wand holstered on her forearm (concealed by a Notice-Me-Not, obviously). Decided, she rose to her feet.

She didn't miss the way he stiffened immediately, somehow curling further into himself, as she made her tentative approach. Mindful of how edgy and genuinely agitated the stranger was, Lily sat one seat away and purposefully kept her gaze away from him, resisting the urge to grin as she _felt_ more than saw the man's bemused glances. Honestly, she thought gaining his attention would be more challenging.

Brushing off Gregory's anxious behavior, who not so subtly disapproved of her chosen confidant, Lily focused on taking casual sips of whatever ale was recommended for the night. She couldn't quite recall what it was called, but she found the bitter, dark golden liquid acceptable enough - it certainly kept her patience aloft as she waited for the twitchy man beside her to initiate a conversation. She heard several false starts as the man drew in a breath to speak, presumably, before releasing the air in a frustrated sigh. Unable to keep a soft smile from forming, Lily allowed herself a quick peek.

He was gripping his own pint with both hands - she noted that he wore black gloves - and was very studiously attempting to memorize the grain pattern of the counter, a small furrow drawing his brows together in what appeared to be concentration. Even though she could only see his face in profile, expression stubbornly set in a _much_ too serious look, it didn't detract from how very handsome he was.

Her stomach fluttered in what was, undoubtedly, attraction.

Irritated with herself, Lily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with perhaps more aggression than she intended. Clearing her throat pointedly, she successfully garnered his attention - and met his soulful blue stare dead-on. Lily couldn't look away if she tried.

"You've got nice eyes," she commented thoughtfully, only aware of what she'd said after the fact. "Oh, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

The corner of his mouth ticked upwards.

"I'm usually not so, er," Lily groused for words helplessly, gesturing vaguely in an attempt to get her point across. "So _bold_ , I suppose. Sorry."

"Don't mention it," he replied gruffly, though not unkindly, and it was immediately clear from his accent that he was a foreigner. American, it almost sounded like, but not quite. Just as she was about ask where he was from, the man looked past her shoulder, searching once more with all the appearance of a cornered animal. It was evident in the rigid set of his shoulders, in the resigned furrow between his brows, in the tight clench of his jaw, and in the wary glint to his bloodshot eyes.

Her sympathy deepened, changing her superficial interest into a more profound desire to _help_. The brightest witch of the generation was utterly spellbound by his presence, perhaps more curious than she ought to be, and was now wholly invested in giving him whatever assistance she could provide. All that was left to do now was to find out what had him so ill at ease.

Well, she wasn't placed in Gryffindor for nothing.

"Are you looking for someone?"

Managing not to flinch under the intensity of his burning gaze as he looked back at her, Lily couldn't help the flush that colored her cheeks (the alcohol was definitely catching up with her). He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he glanced away once more, giving a curt shake of his head.

Glad to have garnered a response, her smile returned. "I see. Avoiding someone, then?"

A stiff nod.

Ducking her head to catch his eye, Lily dropped her voice to a knowing, conspiratorial whisper. "Hiding from the missus, are we?"

The man snorted, a touch of humor lightening his face, and she counted it a small success.

"My name's Lily, by the way," she extended a hand forward expectantly.

He hesitated a moment, clearly debating with himself, before he straightened - a picture of determination. Silently wondering what could have made him reluctant in the first place, Lily easily accepted the black-gloved hand into her grip. "James."

"Really?" she blurted in surprise, slightly uncomfortable by the reminder of her dark-haired fiancee who may very well be wondering where she spent her nights, as of late. Trying to bury her grimace behind a nervous chuckle, Lily pulled her hand back. "Er, can I call you Jim?"

"You can call me anything you like, doll-face."

Lily could feel herself puff up at the blatant innuendo within _seconds_ , fuming, fingers twitching for her wand - until she saw the genuine look of bemusement on his face. Apparently, the Muggle had surprised even himself with that line.

 _But what a line it was_ , a part of her breathed, flattered and preening.

"Sorry," he frowned, glancing down as if the floor would sprout answers. "That was - I'm not really that -"

"Bold?" she arched a brow, half-smiling.

"Yeah," he huffed good-naturedly, before it faded into something pensive. "At least, I don't think so."

It seemed a strange thing not to know, and Lily came to the shrewd conclusion that she shouldn't pry. Taking a sip of her ale and easily dropping the subject, she slid her gaze over to study him for the umpteenth time. Tilting her head, she mused, "You know, come to think of it, you don't seem much like a 'Jim'. Is there something else I can call you?"

Taking the distraction for what it was, the man shot her a wry look. "Buchanan."

"Buchanan," she hummed, testing the name, finding that she liked it. "A bit long, but I'll find a nickname for you, yet."

"Bucky," he said abruptly, visibly withdrawing to some faraway place in his mind. "I think..."

The glazed look to his eye was worrying enough without adding her quickly forming suspicions - it was abundantly clear that Buchanan had plenty of demons haunting him, which she could sympathize with - but whatever issues he had were more cerebral than she'd realized, if his faulty memory was any indication. Lily certainly wasn't qualified or prepared to deal with someone like him, no matter how much she wanted to help.

Anxiously chewing on her lip, Lily spoke softly. "Are you alright?"

Closing his eyes, Buchanan took a deep breath before exhaling forcefully. "No."

"I'm making it worse, aren't I?" she wasn't entirely sure what 'it' was, unwilling to pry into what seemed a very personal plight, but Lily wasn't Head Girl for being unobservant. At best, she was forcing him to recall painful things or bringing attention to that fact that he had trouble remembering them in the first place. Perhaps she should have listened to Gregory, after all. "I-I could leave, if you like."

The man tilted his head, considering her quietly. The back of her neck prickled at his scrutiny and, for a moment, she thought he would send her on her way. However, his somber expression eased into something neutral before he finally responded, at length, "... No."

"Oh yes, that's _very_ convincing," Lily drawled.

A small smile briefly stretched his lips as he leaned forward, apparently bolstered by some new-found, if rusty, confidence. It was surprisingly endearing. "No, really. I don't mind when a beautiful dame tries to pick me up."

" _Tries?_ " she shrieked, mildly offended at the insinuation that she couldn't flirt, even though she very _bloody well_ could! She had half a mind to smack his arm if he wasn't sitting _just_ out of reach. That, and he'd given her a nice compliment. As it were, Lily settled for recoiling in mock outrage, a hand placed over her heart. "I was not!"

"Could've fooled me," now he was outright grinning, a far sight better than the lost and brooding look he sported earlier.

"Presumptuous prat," she returned without heat, hiding her pleased smirk behind a sip of ale. "I'm _engaged_."

It was a gentle rebuke, a warning, and a test.

Something flickered in his expression, and he glanced down to find the ring on her left hand.

"Whoever he is, he's a lucky man."

Lily beamed, paying no mind to her aching heart. "Yes, I suppose he is."

She kept the strange Muggle company for the rest of the night, making the occasional comment here and there - at some point during their interactions, she'd managed to slip into the seat beside him - and was pleased to find that he had a charming personality beneath his gloomy exterior. They spoke about everything and nothing, it seemed, just another pair of patrons making conversation and nursing the same drink that they barely drank. Time passed much more quickly than Lily thought, and she found herself more disappointed than usual when Gregory announced that he'd be closing up, so ' _go flirt somewhere less indecent_ '.

"Not flirting," Lily grumbled, pulling on her coat. She pointedly refused to look at Buchanan's smug face.

Even so, they left the pub together - not yet ready to go their separate ways.

As they ambled down the street, aimless, Lily's mind kept returning to something she'd noticed about Buchanan. There was an unusual cadence to the way he spoke, though she couldn't quite place it, no matter how much she tried to pick apart the nuances. Definitely American, there was no missing that, but his inflection would fluctuate in the oddest places. It was as intriguing as it was frustrating.

"You're American, aren't you?"

She kept her eyes forward, taking in various shop fronts and their adverts, so she only _heard_ the scuff of his faltered gait.

"Yes," he responded quietly. More firmly, "I am."

Lily hummed. "I thought so."

They continued on like that, bouncing harmless inquiries at each other.

It was a night she wished would never end, but she couldn't ignore the pull of responsibility that tugged at her chest. Sighing, she came to a stop and turned to face her new friend with a heavy heart. "I think it's about time I return," she answered the unspoken question in his eyes. She didn't elaborate, half-hoping he wouldn't ask where she was headed.

He didn't. "Me too."

"I had a nice time," Lily said, if only to fill the suddenly awkward air, but found her words less than appropriate for the situation. Dear Merlin, that was something to be said after a _date_ , not, well, whatever this was. Stubbornly pushing aside her embarrassment at the slip in decorum, she forged onward with what she _meant_ to say. "Will you be stopping by the tavern again? I wouldn't mind having another chat."

There, that was much better.

"Yeah," Buchanan responded with a truly impressive smile. Her stomach fluttered. "Whatever works for you, doll-face."

Lily didn't know it then, but that was the moment she started falling.

* * *

_Shall I stay? Would it be a sin,_

_If I can't help falling in love with you?_

* * *

He felt conflicted about the redheaded dame who smiled and joked and flirted with him. She was just a civilian, she was _engaged_ to _another man_ , and he shouldn't get involved, he _really_ shouldn't -

"You wouldn't _believe_ the day I've had."

The flash of her red hair nearly made him flinch as she sat down beside him, chattering away, and he just managed to hold it together. He'd been twitchy ever since his escape, and he couldn't help but be hyper-aware of everything and everyone around him; his heightened senses _knew_ when someone was watching or approaching, it was the only thing that's kept him alive and free for so long.

Except, Lily didn't _count_.

She could sneak up on him better than any hit-man or retrieval team sent after him, which was as impressive as it was suspicious. It raised his hackles that he was so hilariously vulnerable to _anyone_ , even if it was a pretty dame with a prettier smile. It didn't make _sense_. It was _dangerous_. He'd spent too many nights wondering whether or not she was an undercover agent out to gain his trust - it'd explain the way she held herself sometimes or the dark look in her eyes, but -

"Hey, what's got you so blue, Buckaroo?"

But she was _too kind_ to be anything but genuine and he would _know,_ he would recognize it if someone was like him. She made him smile and forget, made him feel _normal_ , so he pushed his thoughts aside and turned to her with a raised, somewhat forced, teasing brow. "Buckaroo?"

"Whaa-at?" she dragged the vowel out, lips stretched into a grin. Her simple joy was infectious. "Don't you like that one better than Bucky-bear?"

"Well, it's more creative," Bucky allowed himself to joke, steering her away from whatever caught her attention. It was as good a tactic as any when it came to Lily, considering she responded more to playful jabs than anything else. Plus it was _fun_. "Keep working on it."

"Prat," she huffed, giving him an expectant look. "And don't think I haven't noticed you trying to change the subject."

Damn it.

He liked Lily, the fiery dame he shared a friendly camaraderie with, but he couldn't actually _tell_ her about - about _anything_. Bucky couldn't involve her, not any more than he already was just by talking to her, and the sheer truth of that rung hollow in his chest whenever he looked into her compassionate gaze. She honestly wanted to help him. What was more dangerous, he wanted to _let her_ \- and if he did that, well. Bucky experienced and witnessed first-hand what happened to those who caught the attention of H.Y.D.R.A., so he couldn't help but feel frustrated whenever moments like this popped up.

 _Just leave it alone_ , he wanted to say. _Please don't get involved_.

"Just... tell me about your day," he said instead.

"I don't think so," Lily crossed her arms. "You weren't listening, besides. So."

They stared at each other, a stubborn battle of wills, and the air was charged with mutual frustration.

Lily backed down first, visibly deflating as she slumped in her seat. "I worry about you, Bucky. You seem like you have the whole world on your shoulders every time I see you, and some days, like today, you look like... like you're drowning," she paused as he looked away, trying not to meet her eyes and reveal just how close to the truth she was. He didn't want her to know, to _see_ , but he should've known that she'd have figured it out eventually. His dame was as smart as she was beautiful.

 _Not mine_ , Bucky sternly reminded himself, hands gripping his knees.

"If you really don't want to tell me, I won't make you," she continued, voice soft and earnest and apparently aware of his internal struggle. "At least tell me you'll be alright."

"Sure," he scoffed, a bitter smile pulling at his lips, and he _felt_ her sadness. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Movement from the corner of his eye had him glancing over, and Bucky was momentarily captivated by the frown marring Lily's features. It made her seem much older than she was, which was _too young_ , and he wished he wasn't responsible for putting that look there.

"I don't believe you."

The quietness of her normally vibrant voice was enough to have him hold her sharp green gaze. Lily was leaning toward him, and there was something stirring in how open and bare she left herself to him, vulnerable in a way Bucky couldn't seem to be with anyone but her. There was something dangerous forming here, something he should put an end to _right now_ , but he was as selfish as he was defective.

He didn't want to let go. Not yet.

Lily was the first person since his escape to actually _see_ him, to _want_ to see him, and it was painful to admit that he craved that. It meant feeling more human than weapon, more man than machine, every time she looked at him with such kindness. And in those kind eyes he saw another life, another _time_ , where he might have asked such a sweet and stunning girl out for a night of dancing and another night and another until they were both gray and old. His memories weren't all there, but Bucky sometimes caught glimpses of who he used to be and how he used to live. Looking at Lily now, he wished he could bring them _both_ back to that time.

But this wasn't his time.

Sighing, Bucky glanced away to look at one of the many glittering reasons why he _really_ _shouldn't_ get involved.

The modest rock on her ring finger spoke of another man who saw the same remarkable dame he did.

"I'll be fine."

* * *

_Take my hand, take my whole life too,_

_'Cause I can't help falling in love with you._


End file.
